


Edge of Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Sylvanas/Reader, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Farstriders, Fluff and Angst, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You're a Ranger, Captain of your own squad in the Silver Covenant. The world is on the brink of disaster due to the Legion invasion, and of course that is when you see her in the streets. She's covered in her armour, a stomach wrenching copy of the one she wore in life, but all you see are her eyes.And you can't help but remember how you fell for them in the first place.(Note: No dead Sylvanas smut- that would be... very uncomfortable to write, I imagine)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THREE CHEERS FOR THE DARK LADY!
> 
> *Cheers!*  
> *Cheers!*  
> *Cheers!*

One look from those eyes. And suddenly your shattered future lays at your feet. A spark in the back of your mind, a dim flame too soon snuffed- too soon taken from you ignites. Your muscles tense, old wounds burn, the whispers of a life you spent years trying to leave behind wail in your ears.

With a morbid amusement, you think it sounds almost like a banshee.

 

You're young again. 

Quick, talented, charming and overconfident. People either ask why you left a life of luxury behind in pursuit of a chance to join the Farstriders, or say your skill could rival that of the Windrunner sisters one day. You think it already does.

Composed. That's how the others in your squad described you. You never did let emotion guide your arrows, nor your words. You were calculative and concise to the point of obsession in a job well done. That did not escape the Ranger General's notice on the few occasions she saw you in battle. At first you thought she was intrigued by your skill, the way that gaze sized you up like a constant challenge. You were half right about the intrigue, but wrong to think yourself unique for being noticed.

Nothing escaped her notice.

 

Years pass in the blink of an eye, and suddenly you're standing beside the elite, one of the trusted of Ranger General Windrunner. Nothing yet, but a deep respect. And an urge to prove yourself to one of the greatest archers you've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Not that you'd want to lay anything else on her... Not yet. 

You had a family there, brothers and sisters you knew better than yourself. Though that did say very little. In time you would learn that your skill was not the sum total of your being. But in the moment, that was all your hoped to be, skillful, and you would prove it no matter the cost.

Your chance came in a confrontation with the trolls, in the early hours of the morning. They thought the small pack of archers would be easy pickings. They were mistaken, if your arrows to their skulls were any indication.

Correction. The arrows you fired were scant in number compared to that of Ranger General Windrunner. You caught a glimpse of her as she flowed through the grounds of conflict, her timing impeccable, her aim precise, her grace... unworldly. Sylvanas Windrunner was truly peerless. 

You hesitated, halfway reaching for another arrow, the air knocked from your lungs. You felt it then, the way your heart thundered like never before, more powerful than a lynx's pounce. 

 

Her ears twitched, and her cowl whipped around to you. Delicate features were illuminated by the dying light of your camp's fire- the warm orange glow unable to overpower the will behind her burning eyes. At first there was fury swirling in those perfect blue orbs- but you had the honour of seeing them steady the moment they set on you. It was a moment, in the heat of battle you found the calm of the storm in one another. You'd never seen her gaze go quite so soft before.

All it took was one look, and you had fallen beyond the point of return.

Then her bow was raised- eyes diverted to something that loomed behind you. 

You remember nothing more than the world fading as pain gripped you mind, and pulled you into the darkness.

 

She never tells you exactly what happened. And you never ask more than once, after seeing the way the guilt tears that effortless confidence down. It's enough to know she cares, that you don't even wonder in time. Sylvanas Windrunner, never lets weakness show to the arrows that fill her quiver, so when the time comes that they must be sacrificed for the greater good of her people she will not mourn. 

It takes months, but you heal, and she is with you every step of the way. 'Keeping her newest protege in one piece' she says. But she doesn't sneak away to spent the night in Nathandos' home. She does that for you, to ensure your wounds heal, to caress your ears and cradle your delicate and weak body in her own. To kiss the scar on your arm as it heals ever so slowly, and bury her faultless face in your golden hair as she rocks you to sleep, only to vanish by the time morning arrives.

When the time comes that you're ready for combat again, you don your gear for the first time in what feels like an eternity. She's there when you do, silent and motionless with her back to a wall as she watches. She never says anything, and neither do you, both too stoic and proud to admit what lays before you. But something urges you to take the first step.

“See something you like?”

You didn't and never will understand where the confidence to say that came from, nor how you managed to keep a straight face as you watched her approach you slowly in the mirror, her face hidden by her cowl as it usually was. Years in the future, you look back on that moment and roll your eyes because- Really? You couldn't think of something more inventive to say? Alas, despite your painful lack of wit-

You notice she was wearing gloves, when soft leather lands upon your right shoulder as she twisted you around. 

Sylvanas wore the same perfume she always did that day, the light scent of fresh sungrass barely detectable. The familiarity of it grounded you in the moment as soft lips met yours. She tasted ever so sweetly of sun touched wine, and you couldn't believe how right it felt as she guided your back to the wall, and her hands held you... as if you were the most delicate being, too precious to let slip away between her fingers.

Any reality you once believed in was lost as you drowned in her. Her scent, her touch, her kiss, her voice as it asked for permission to make you hers. 

Your answer was plain to see, as you took her hands in yours and led her to your bed.

Sylvanas Windrunner, you learned, was unsurprisingly pleased by possessing control. Her hands on your wrists, hips on your waist, her lips on your chest until you were writhing and panting beneath her, begging for something you couldn't ever be prepared to receive... 

Heaven, as it so happens, was closer than you ever could have imagined. Only her tongue on your body and her fingers carrying your core through what felt like endless waves of ecstacy stood between you and the light. And it only got better when you returned the favour, your head between her thighs, your hands hungry for every inch of her skin until you were drunk on the way she moved, the way she said your name.

You notice she is fond of leaving marks on your body, and traces them with a gentle touch after the passion is drained from tired limbs, and all that remains is affection. It is precisely then, in the aftermath of discovering something you still do not have the words to describe, that she lets it slip.

It's quiet, and you barely hear it even with your elven hearing.

“You are not an arrow.”  
You're not disposable.  
You're not replaceable.

The embrace she holds you in tightens, and she leans down to kiss the shell of you ear.

“The wind that guides mine.”

Your vision blurred, because you knew what that meant. All those years Sylvanas had never shown an ounce of vulnerability and now she laid her cards on the table for you, and you alone.

“I hope you do not intend to run from me then... Windrunner.”

Oh fel that was the wrong moment for a horrible pun.

Nevertheless... A quiet giggle from Sylvanas echoes through your heart as you close your eyes and curl ever closer to her. The two of you, thinly veiling three words in the only ways you knew how. But it was enough of an omission to know.

From that moment on- you have been in love.

 

You remember watching her fall next.

Hours before she had been pulling you into the forest, a grim look gracing her beautiful features. She knew this would be a hard fought battle, and she would be laying her life on a very delicate line for her people. That knowledge fuelled the desperation she kissed you with, it set you on fire- ignited something within you that made you sink to your knees and sate your hunger for her body.

And now you watched, helpless, as her body slumped to the ground, her blood pouring from a wound there was no hope of recovery from. 

You kept fighting. Not out of vengence, but because Sylvanas had given her life for the defence of your home. And you would be damned if that sacrifice would go to waste.

But it did, and you were forced to retreat. The shame of failure prevented you from staying with your people long. You fled. A deserter. A dishonour. But all that was numb in comparison to the thought that lingered in your mind- as you watched her fall in your memory again and again.

'Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor, Dalah'surfal.'

 

So many years had passed since then, and those eyes you had fallen for were crimson now. Their depth had twisted, but their beauty remained.

Your bow drops from your grasp, and a ranger under your command quickly moves to retrieve it for you. You couldn't reach her if you tried, the Banshee Queen flanked by dreadguards as she stood in the middle of the road in Dalaran. The passing people were too busy fleeing in fear or screaming bloody murder to realize her gaze was transfixed on yours, or the twitch in her ear that had signified indecision in life.

Your shock softens as you remember learning that about her. Learning all the little ticks and quirks of this amazing woman from your memory.

But she isn't that woman anymore... she is the warchief. And too far out of your reach to bother holding out your hand. And so, you take your bow back, and walk away. As a tear falls from your eyes, you hear her sigh.

You heard it before, everytime your disagreements had turned to arguement. It's a sound somewhere between exhasperated and regretful, and you find yourself thanking the titans that she still has the capacity to feel. For what reason, you're still not sure.

 

Later that night a royal Deathguard knocks on your door, and hands you a note from the Dark Lady.

 

“Krasus' Landing. Morning.”

It's her hand writing.

You're there without hesitation.


	2. Recuperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas was injured on duty, and you are tending to her until she is healed and ready for action!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was more for setting up for the third chapter, where things will be much more fluff and happy! Basically, enjoy figuring out a bit more about how the relationship between this character and Sylvanas works.
> 
> Also thank you so much for the Kudos and comments!
> 
> -Flor!

The first thing a ranger did under the command of Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner, is write a letter to their families in the event that they met an untimely demise under her guidance. It was not out of mistrust in her abilities, there was scarcely a marksman with skill that could hope to rival hers, and certainly there was no tactician to provide an equal match.

It was the General's ruthless behaviour that started this morbid trend. If a threat arose, she extinguished it. Swiftly, and completely. This of course meant a more 'hard and fast' approach, one that the expert rangers and their commanding officer excelled at, whilst keeping casualties at a minimum through their stealthy technique. It was hard to kill an archer you couldn't locate, and even harder to do so before they landed an arrow between your eyes.

Alas, after so many years, mistakes were bound to be made. That was the reason why you were in her tent, tending her wounds, and trying not to provoke her exceptionally sour mood. You accomplished that by simply staying silent. More out of appreciation for a bit of quiet after a long day. Your hands gently wrap a bandage around her midsection, aware that while you did so she simultaneously threatened to burn a hole through the top of the tent with a glare that could make even the most battle hardened soldier wilt and die. You however, decide to tempt fate today.

“This is nice.”

Sylvanas' glare turns flat as it shifts to your face. She catches your lips twitch, a ghost of a smile.

Her ears flick in annoyance.

“This is nice? I sustain an injury, that will render your General ineffective for a week at least, and only manage to JUST snatch a victory from the precipice of defeat in the process. And you consider cleaning my wound -Nice-.” 

You can't help but shake your head as the last word slides of your lover's tongue like ice. She is prone to falling into one of these moods, you have learned, when her pride has been dealt a blow. A rather large one this time it seems, you can tell that much from the especially volatile anger that radiates off her. You suppose it comes with being passionate about one's occupation, an understandable reaction from a perfectionist to a far from cleanly executed battle. 

That hunger for perfection is something you share.

Luckily, you are in no such mood today, as you had been assigned to hunting for food instead of patrol. So you secure the bandage in place, and rise from your knees. The clean, white linen is the third length you applied so far, the previous two having been soaked with blood far too quickly from Sylvanas squirming out of discontent. A salve you retrieve from a medicine pack solved the bleeding rather quickly. 

With a nod, silent self praise for a job well done, you go to the top of Sylvanas' bedroll. Carefully, you transfer her head into your lap and stroke her silky hair back into place. 

“Knowing that I will have you, injured or not, in my presence and under my care is what I find nice, -Darling-.”

An extra bit of edge to punctuate your words, as well as a playfully narrow gaze is all it takes to soften the look in her eyes, and coax her tense muscles into relaxing into you. Your relationship is based off of a few pillars, one of which would be sarcastic comments and sharp humour. Although playful in nature, it provided that extra buffer of security in you, knowing you had met your physical match as well as your mental one.

The only verbal response you are given is a quiet huff as she tilts her head up against the dexterous fingers working the frustration out of her mind from her scalp. Always so tense. You press a gentle kiss to her forehead and instead of asking her to get some rest, you let your touch speak for you instead.

Time passes, and Sylvanas closes her eyes to rest. Contrary to the rumours circulated among the newest recruits, she does sleep.

She also is not capable of killing with her glare.

And no, her gear is not polished with the blood spatter of her enemies.

Nor could she make someone's head explode by pointing her ears at them.

Finally, no, she did not have a twin she consumed upon birth to become as exceptional as she is. 

... Not to your knowledge, at least...

You wonder if anyone would believe you, in the event that you told them about the things Sylvanas does do. To name a few of her quirks- She applies lotion to her ears every morning, refuses to function beyond opening her eyes and walking upon waking for a solid ten minutes, unless she is supplied with a cup of Moonberry essence tea, and cannot sleep through the night without something to hold. The last one seems relevant as you hear her groan softly, waking in your arms.

Her eyelids flutter open, her mind somewhere else altogether as your fingers go to massage the base of her ears. She loved that, if her reaction was any indication. 

In a few minutes time, when she began to rise from her makeshift bed, you open your mouth to protest the action out of worry for her still open wound. That protest died against her lips as she gave you a quick kiss, and pulled you down by your shoulders.

She curls up against your side, and you put your arm around her protectively, the comfortable silence undisrupted as you fall into a restful sleep.

... now that you think of it, her armour always did seem more shiny after she rubbed the blood off of it. 

You huff quietly, amused. As if you didn't know you were in-love with a psychopath already.

 

________ 

(Sylvanas PoV)

Sylvanas isn't sure if her lover knows that she talks in her sleep.

 

From what she has gathered from being the latter of the two to fall asleep at night, without fail, the woman she found herself plagued with a reoccurring dream in which they were married, and had a plethora of pet lynx cubs.

She was at it again, actually, muttering drowsily as her mind wandered in some distant dream.

This time it seemed they were on a beach.

Sylvanas had found difficulty deciding how she felt about that. Not the part about the beach, no she loved the beach. There was one outside Windrunner Spire, where she would play with her brothers and sisters as a child. It was the idea of a future with this partner of hers that she was uncertain of.

It was not hard at all for Sylvanas to discern that she was in love. Her heart was stirred to all sorts of emotions on the spectrum, because of every little detail about the slumbering elf that clung to her. She was more than willing to admit that this was the best she had felt in her lifetime, and she wanted to keep the source of this feeling, no matter the cost.

But devotion, that was another matter entirely. There had only been one focus in her prior life, and that had been her duty to her people. It was still her goal in life, where she knew she wanted to see herself fifty, or a hundred years from now. But with this woman, this ray of sunshine in a life she had been content living within black and white choices...

That was not something she was prepared to promise, and it might never be...

But as sleep finally pulled her away from consciousness, Sylvanas couldn't help but think that maybe a ring on her finger might not be so outrageous of a possibility.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Something unsettled you about standing on the edge of the floating city of mages. Perhaps it was the fact that a particularly cruel wind might blow you off the edge to your doom, or finally realizing how high you actually were. Either thought was simply a symptom of your distaste for heights.

 

And that is all it was, distaste. You didn't have a fear of heights, but they did cause discomfort. Very much discomfort. As did portals, and ships. In your years prior to the fall of Silvermoon, if your feet didn't touch the ground, your bow never left your hands. It was the anchor that kept you calm. Though, the smooth oak did little to comfort you now.

 

“I am surprised you came.”

 

Sylvanas breaks the silence you had fallen into, a metre away and staring into the distance. Her crimson eyes flicker towards you, then move to the sea that seemed to be a world away from this height. She sensed your unease... of course she did.

 

“A little drop wasn't going to stop me... even if this view is not exactly my taste.”

 

“A hawkstrider was once too far above the ground for your taste.”

 

Heat rises in your cheeks. You remember the day she speaks of, just outside of Silvermoon's walls...

 

 

 

_“Sylvanas it's loud, clumsy, obnoxiously coloured- No. I will not be riding that.”_

 

_“You would travel on foot then?”  
_

_  
“Yes.”_

 

_“For the entire journey?”_

 

_“Ye-”_

  
  
_“For the whole three days it will take us to reach Windrunner Spire, you intend to kill yourself from exhaustion instead of riding this well trained, well groomed Hawkstrider.”_

_“... Yes.”_

 

_Sylvanas, seated on her own mount, had knitted her brows and frowned at you._

 

_“I see only one way to remedy this situation, my dear.” The ranger-general leaned back in her saddle. The smile that graced her delicate lips had been undeniably impish as she extended an arm towards you._

 

_“We will ride together then.”_

 

_Not the first time she made you speechless..._

 

 

 

 

And not the last, apparently. Because here you were, blushing, trying not to smile at the sweet memory with no witty reply coming to mind. Staring at ruby eyes that had captivated you once again. The Banshee Queen waited a moment, then pulled back the dark cowl that shrouded her features.

 

Her once peachy skin was almost blue now, her cheekbones and jaw sharper than they were in life. Her lips, once the colour of Bloodthisle, had been addictive to you. They were like a drug, and all that had changed was the colour. So lost in the dark purple sight you don't realize she is smirking.

 

“Am I to assume the sunrise isn't the view you came for, then?”

 

You cover your mouth with your hand and turn away, shaking your head as a giggle slips past your defences. When you remove your hand to speak, it's a mumbled words and a quite voice. But you know better than most that Sylvanas would hear.

 

“Let me put it this way... I used to see both the sun and you every morning, Windrunner. Guess which one always outshone the other.”

 

When she laughs it's not the bittersweet echo you imagined. It's not pure, but even then the familiar sound fills the void that existed in your chest. The melody almost sweeps you back to another fond memory and she steps closer.

 

That is when an icy hand brushes against the back of yours. The touch grounds you in the moment.

 

“Still so easily flustered.”

 

“Evidently, that is one of the things that has not changed.”

 

“What has?”

 

She slips it in so easily. Like the words mean nothing. As if her tone can mask the weight of what she asks. You slip your hand into hers, and squeeze gently. Blue eyes meet red as the sun peaks over the clouds.

 

“I believe we will have to discover that together.”

 

There is tenderness in the way she strokes your cheek, and whispers in response.  


“If that is the case, I intend to enjoy every moment of rediscovering you.”

 

And light help you when she does.

 


	4. Confronting The Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For you, the only easy decisions in life come with difficult consequences. After countless years of war and experience, your instinct tells you what to do. Which option holds an acceptable loss. Which would have an easier fallout to clean. Which holds the greatest chance of success. Any hesitation is simply for indulgence of fear, or rigid unwillingness to change. 
> 
> Now, you are faced with one of the hardest decisions you've yet encountered- Either choice would leave you in the command of a Windrunner. But ultimately, you must decide which you will follow...
> 
> Your duty, or your heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fellow Sylvanas lovers!
> 
> I apologize for the gap in updates. I finished taking my IB exams, and afterwards went through a little rough patch... it's hard to write when your heart's in something but your head keeps wandering and vice versa lol. Anyways, enough of that- Hope you enjoy this! Rather short, but necessary.

Veressa Windrunner's leadership shared a few qualities with that of her sister, Sylvanas. Both commanded an aura of iron will that was known to have knee shaking effects on recruits, and both were especially ruthless in their tactics. They favoured, and favoured still, methodical yet merciless attacks meant to deal with threats swifter than the impression their namesake gave. The younger two sisters were followed with a blind zeal in their soldier's eyes, which was born from the untouchable exterior they built out of the air that surrounded them. 

But that was where the similarities ended. None would say it, but although each Windrunner sister was a creature of beauty, Sylvanas was regarded as the jewel that shone brightest. It was in some part due to her vanity, and the care she put into maintaining this unspoken title, but in so small part also due to the bearing of royalty she carried with her. Whoever could not be won over by her military prowess was quick to fall prey to the charm in those blue-grey eyes, the delicate yet dangerous curves and edges of this unquestionably driven woman.

Veressa did not develop the same winning grace of her sister. She was hardened by loss, especially after the death of her beloved, fiery haired husband. Where Sylvanas would be quietly adored and regarded as the golden standard to follow, the younger sister would be saluted and respected by the stern brow of her rangers. It was the effect she had on them, stemming from the overpowering force of her presence. As each sister before her had done, Veressa had fallen prey to the vengeance that reared in each of her kin after great loss.

For you to gain the courage to walk into her quarters took many moons of sleep in which rest remained elusive. Eventually, your exhaustion won out over your fear, and a mind too clouded with want of freedom from the burden on your shoulders provoked you to take the first step forward. After that, it was simply a matter of keeping rhythm before you found yourself face to face with two oak doors. Soon to be face to face with your commander.

That aforementioned 'knee shaking' quality was starting to have a noticeable effect now.

A part of you had hoped your resignation would be met with a cold shoulder. Alas, although Veressa was no longer the exuberant young elf you had met in Windrunner Spire so many years ago, she was not the kind to remain impartial when one of her most trusted rangers abandoned their mantle of duty. Though, if she were trying to convince you to stay, she did quite a horrible job of it with the things she said, especially as the words you traded became more heated...

You vaguely remember Sylvanas as Veressa raises her voice. Sitting in her tent, tending her wound, and miss her frigid demeanour of annoyance in comparison to-

“-lvanas is dead! There is nothing to be gained from fighting for her!”

There's a silence that falls over the two of you after the words are spoken. Veressa gives no tells in her expression to suggest she thinks she crossed a line, but you both know she did. The two of you have had your arguments in the past, but she never... well. The gloves were off now. So you took a page from your lover's book of advice and narrowed your gaze on Veressa, and enunciated each word with the sharpness of an arrow's point.

“The most excellent Ranger-Generals have always lead by example, Commander. Perhaps you might earn the right to say such things after you stop fighting for a dead man.”

There was little to be said after that. In fact, nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment! Tell me what you want to see happen with them, and I'll try to make it work in a one-shot. ^-^ Be safe out there fellow followers of the Banshee Queen!
> 
> -Florayna


End file.
